Lost in Translation
by emedealer
Summary: Sherlolly AU set in the early 1900s, a time in history where tensions rage throughout the world. Molly Hooper lived alone, and she never expected that a mid-night knock on her door would pull her into one of the greatest love stories ever told. Rating may change.


_A/N: Thought I'd give this a go. Tell me if I should continue it._

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><p>"<em>One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it, and the journey is always towards the other soul."<em>

― _D.H. Lawrence_

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><p>- 1915 -<p>

The wind batted heavily on the thin windows of the small cottage, whistling through the door that was jammed closed with a sturdy lock to keep it from swinging open on its hinges. The thick flurry of snow made it impossible to see outside, coupled with the fact that it was near mid-night.

Molly pulled the blanket tighter around her, sitting upright on the bed as she hadn't had a chance of sleeping with the noise all around the house. Nights like this always had her on edge, her nerves creeping up every time she was alone in a storm. She picked at the fibers on the thin blanket, having always been at a loss for how to cope with moments like this. The storms came often in the winter months though, and she had no desire to be a nervous mess every other night.

She resolved to read, attempting to tune out everything else for however long she could. She wondered, as she brought up one of her novels at random, if any had been caught outside in the storm. It had come on quite abruptly, making her think of the danger to any poor man on his way home from work, or a group of children out at play. She hated to think of it, as she had heard stories of people who got lost in the storms and never heard of again.

Her mind wandered away from the irrational fear as she looked over the worn cover of the book in her hands; _David Copperfield._

She had borrowed it from the library, having spent the weekend in town on a visit to her mother's flat in London. She was constantly chastised for living so far out of the city, in such an isolated little settlement. The house was quiet and the commute to work rather lengthy, but she had always loved walking, and a lack of crowds for that matter. She read:

_"Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show."_

The sudden knock rapping violently against the wooden door pulled her away from the novel. She hadn't known that she was whispering the line aloud until her breath caught in her throat at the sound.

There was a beat, and then the knock came again, louder than the first. Even so, it was difficult to hear with the wind and storm blowing over. The reality of it froze her nerves, knowing that there was a person caught outside, trying to get in.

She quickly pulled herself up from the bed, straightening the faded nightdress that almost touched her ankles at the hem.

The door was hastily unlocked, but her hand paused at the knob, rationality kicking into her thoughts. Most wouldn't open their home to a stranger in the middle of the night. The dangers there were obvious to anyone, and she wasn't stupid enough to exclude herself from them.

Those thoughts were cast aside when she heard the taxed breathing from the person on the other side, shallow and unstable against the frigid air in the snow storm.

She decidedly pulled the door open, the freezing wind instantly kicking at her nightdress and bare feet. Wrapping her arms around her, she took in the man who was stood at the top step.

He was bundled in a great black coat, gloved hands stuffed in its pockets. The lower half of his face was wrapped in a scarf, clearly not made to handle the present weather. His breath shook against the cold, and from the snow that was stuck to his coat, there was no doubt in her mind that he would be chilled to the bone from the freezing water. His face was so pale, and his blue gaze latched pleadingly with hers as soon as he saw her.

He reached up to pull the scarf down to his neck, revealing a handsome face, but unlike any other man she had ever seen.

"Madam," He bit out, his voice losing its vigor as he continued to speak against the wind. "I'm afraid that I'm in need of lodging under the current circumstances. Would you be so generous as to let me into your home?"

He ended up sounding desperate, and she couldn't blame him at all. She consented without hesitation.

"Yes, of course." She said, stepping aside for him.

He made haste coming through the open door, which she immediately closed when he was inside. The sound of the wind died down at that, and the warmth in the room added to the relief in his posture.

He caught his breath, pulling off his gloves to reveal the reddened tips of his long fingers as they began to thaw. She was still at the door, unsure of what to do, as she had never had anyone in so late, or in such a state as he was.

The man turned to see her, pulling the soaked scarf from his neck. His expression was blank as he studied her for a moment before he quickly spoke up, as though it was an afterthought.

"I am sorry… I hadn't anticipated being caught up in this weather."

Molly nodded, "It's alright. Here, I'll hang those up for you."

She offered a hand for his scarf and coat, to which he gratefully consented, shrugging out of the garment and giving it over to her. The fabric was wet and heavy to lift, making her wonder how long he had been making his way out in the storm. She hung them up near the mantle.

"Two hours." He said, rubbing absently at his wrist.

She blinked.

"Sorry?"

He looked up at her, brows raised in innocence. "That's how long I've been out in this..." He lazily wafted a hand towards the door, too exhausted to finish.

"Yes, but…"

The words faded, her mind returning to the present, and what he needed from her.

"Come sit close to the fire." She prompted, dragging a wooden chair towards the fireplace, which radiated with heat.

He accepted the invitation, taking the chair while he eagerly rubbed his hands in front of the flames.

She noticed how the light glowed on his features, sharpening the angle of his profile, and the way that his blue eyes soaked in the warmth that the fire provided.

He pulled up the sleeves of the damp dress shirt, exposing his forearms to the heat. When his breathing didn't cease to tremble from the cold, she went to pull the blanket from her bed for him. His body stilled when she hesitantly went to drape it over his shoulders, and he looked to her out of the corner of his eye.

"I hope it helps."

"Thank you." He softly admonished.

Molly nodded as she stepped away, wishing for something to occupy herself with.

"Tea?" She blurted out.

His gaze lingered with hers before it returned to the fireplace.

"Please." He answered, running a hand through the mop of dark curls on his head, which had been dripping water onto the rug beneath his boots.

They stayed in a companionable silence while she worked, the crackle of the fire and clinking of glass being the only sound besides the wind that continued to roll over outside.

As the kettle boiled, Molly glanced behind to assess the man by the fire. Even in the fragile state he had arrived in, he seemed to command the room.

"Miss Hooper."

She paused at that, knowing that there had yet to be a word about her name, or his for that matter.

Having resolved to offer the tea to him, she chose to wait for an explanation, as it was no doubt on its way. She waited, taking a seat opposite from him with her own cup.

"The name is written all over the books." He nodded towards the stack of notebooks and papers that were her own writing - mostly anatomical notes and studies. They indeed had her name scribbled on most of them in black ink, although most of it was hardly legible to begin with. "I can only assume it's yours."

"Yes." She said, sipping from the cup. "Molly Hooper."

"Molly Hooper." He echoed quietly. The corner of his mouth briefly quirked upwards as his gaze returned to the flames.

She didn't know what to make of it, but she felt inferior to him after that. Any person would naturally feel the need to be defensive of it, but Molly found that her curiosity was peaked.

"And yours?"

"Sherlock Holmes." He said after a moment.

"How did you get caught in the storm?"

"I had a case up north." He answer was matter-of-fact. "The carriage that usually takes me back into town needed to be repaired after a run in with an oak tree. I dislike waiting, so I chose to walk the way back. Obviously, it wasn't one of my better plans."

"An oak tree! How on earth did that happen?" She asked.

"Tracking down a criminal mastermind often requires a bit of a chase on my part. The road made a sharp turn, and we went off course."

"Criminal mastermind?"

"It's a thrilling occupation." He said, his expression growing distant with a grin.

"You're a policeman, then."

"No." He affirmed, loudly setting the cup in its saucer. "I'm a consulting detective."

"I haven't heard of that before."

"You shouldn't have. I invented the job."

"So you solve cases?" She asked, leaning forward with interest.

"Yes." He said.

He ended up looking rather proud of his statement, and they sat a long while without a word. It wasn't until she looked away from the fire that she realized that his gaze hadn't wavered from her face, unabashedly staring with a faraway look in his eyes, but so intrigued.

It was when she instinctively looked to the floor that she caught sight of a sizeable amount of blood that clung to the left leg of his trousers, splattered down near his left shoe. Horrified, she assumed that he had walked a long ways without any sort of medical attention.

"What happened to your leg?"

He pulled his foot away from her sight at that, as though he hadn't wanted her to take notice of it since he'd arrived.

"Might have fallen from the carriage when it crashed. Nothing major."

"I can look at that for you." She whispered, feeling that the atmosphere called for it.

"That won't be necessary." He insisted. "Even with your nursing background."

Her eyes flicked up to his face, which bore a smug look. "How did you know that?"

"Well there was your initial assessment of my need for body heat," He began, his expression that of vexation. "And how accommodating you were to an absolute stranger. Women with nursing experience often have those charitable qualities. And then there's the extremely suggestive fact that you own a great deal of medical text."

Molly stared, awestruck.

"That's quite observant." She said, her eyes flitting downwards to her drink.

"Hardly a difficult leap." He assured.

She absently nodded, her eyes cast elsewhere.

"I would honestly feel better if I could take a look." She finally admitted, gesturing to his leg.

He briefly narrowed his eyes at her, perhaps having not expected her to press the subject. In the end he reached to pull up the stained leg of his trousers, revealing a massive cut in his skin. It ran most of the length of his calf, with only a used gauze band wrapped around the worst area. There were smears and specks of dried blood surrounding it, but it wasn't near as infected as Molly thought it would be.

It felt natural for her to go through the motions of her own occupation, having that tugging obligation to help a patient of hers recover in the best way possible. Perhaps that was why she was so well received at the hospital, even having only had the job a mere three years, which was nothing compared to some of the older women who had been working as nurses for decades.

She brought a bowl of hot water and a wash cloth, asking him to prop his foot up on her knee. He obliged without a word, watching her as she carefully unwrapped the bloodied gauze from his leg. She dragged the cloth over the wound, washing away all the traces of dirt and blood from his skin. He barely flinched when she dabbed at the cut with alcohol, and otherwise kept still while she worked.

When he was finally bandaged up, he pulled his leg back down to the floor, muttering his thanks before he swept away from the chair beside her. She stared confusedly while he went for his coat and scarf. Neither of which could be nearly dry, she thought.

"Are you leaving, sir?" She asked in disbelief at the prospect of him going out in the storm, and with his injury.

"I need to get to the station before sunrise."

"The nearest is five miles from here."

"Exactly." He said.

"Why is it so urgent for you?"

"There is a very dangerous man making his way to London as we speak." He pulled on the coat. "I need to get there before he does. Although I confess that I do not know the way from here."

"I do." She later wondered why she had said it so openly. "I go to London for work."

"And yet you practically live on the countryside." He pointed out.

"Yes." Molly said, looking to the ground. "I think it would be better for you to wait until morning."

"I'm afraid that's not an option, Miss Hooper." He retorted, expressing genuine regret for the fact. "But I would gladly take you up on it if the circumstances were not the same."

"You'll be lost!"

"Come with me, then!" He urged, gesturing to the door. "You walk there every day. I don't doubt that you could walk there with your eyes closed, much less in this weather."

She stared, wondering if he was serious about the offer, and whether she would even take it if he was.

In the end, she surprised them both by accepting it.


End file.
